Bearer Of Bad News

War is nothing but death. More and more people dying, trying to protect the things that mean the most to them. But how many things are there that are actually worth the loss of so many lives?

Don't get me wrong, there are things I will fight for, things I will give up my life for. It's just, sometimes I wonder if it's worth it. If we don't win this war, we'll only have regrets. And even if we win, will that fix things? Will people be enough to mend all the broken hearts? Will it be able to take back all the tears we've shed?

Will it bring back those we've lost? Can peace return life to all those who have died fighting for it?

No, it will not.

There's a list of names in front of me. A list of parents who will never see their children. A list of wives who will never get to be their husbands ever again. A list of people who will not live to see another birthday, many of which haven't even reached their twenty-fifth. It's a list of casualties.

I've tried to look at it as nothing more than a list of names. I have tried to ignore the fact that these are the names of people who I will never see again. But it's hard to see them as nothing more than statistics when it's your job to tell people that their loved ones won't be coming back. There are things you can't do when telling a mother that she's lost her only son. I cannot close me heart when I tell a five year old girl that both of her parents have died, and that she is now an orphan.

Just looking at the list hurts. I watched in horror, as the second person on this list died. The name Sirius Black is written next to the number two, right below that of Cedric Diggory. There were casualties before there was even a war. If I look farther down the list, the names get all the more familiar. These are people I went to school with. Dean Thomas and Cho Chang are more than just names to me. These people, they are the ones I fought beside.

These we people who had left behind family and friends. Some of their loved ones now sat in a room down the hall from me, crying. Others are at home, trying to piece together the remains of their lives.

Now more than ten minutes ago, Colin Creevey had sat in a chair across from my desk. I had told him that his younger brother, Dennis, wouldn't be coming back.

I pick up the phone on the right hand side of my desk, and dial the number four.

"Who's next?" I ask the receptionist on the other end.

"Ginevra Weasley," is her calm reply.

I had always found it amusing that Ginny had kept her own last name when she married. Now that I think about, that decision goes along with her headstrong personality.

"Send her in," I say, and then hang up the phone.

I try to use the minute it will take Ginny to walk down to my office to figure out what I will say to her when she does arrive. No matter how many times I say these things to people, the news never gets any easier to break.

It's especially hard to say these things to Ginny. First of all, she's my friend. If it were up to be, she wouldn't experience this kind of thing. Also, she has already lost so much. Two of her brothers, Charlie and George, have names that appear on my list of casualties. She's lost both of her parents, as well as her husband, Draco Malfoy. He had done for us, what Severus Snape had done in this time. He was our spy amongst the Death Eaters. What set him apart from Snape, unfortunately, was the fact that Drco had been caught. A little over two years ago, they tortured and killed him. He was twenty-two. I will never forgive them for what they did, not to Draco, but to Ginny. The left his cold dead body in the living room of the couple's house.

The door to my office opens before I've figured out what to say. Ginny walks in, her face pale. She knows most of what I am going to have to tell her. The only information she's missing is a name. She's already been through this five times before. None of them with myself, though. I'd still fairly new to this job. I've only been the bearer of bad news for about three months.

Ginny sits down where Colin had sat, just minutes before. We sit in silence for a while, because I have no idea how to tell me best friend that another one of her bothers is dead.

"Just tell me who it is, Luna." She says, her focus on her hands folded in her lap.

"Ronald." The name comes out as nothing more than a whisper.

She's trying to hold back tears, I can tell. I get up from my chair and go over to hug her. She starts crying. It's silent, but I can feel her tears through the thin material of my blouse. Though she makes no sound, I can feel her shaking inside my hold.

Eventually, she grabs some tissues out of the nearly empty box of them that lies on my desk. Wordlessly she walks towards the door, pausing only for a brief moment to turn around and say something to me.

"I'll be over at seven. We'll talk then." Then she leaves my office, into the hallway, probably to apparate back to her own home.

The red ink on my list, right under Dennis Creevey, suddenly turns black. Ronald Weasley. When a casualty occurs, the name shows up on my list in red. When a family member is informed of the death, it turns black.

I pick up the phone a few minutes later, and tell the receptionist to let the next person in to see me. I speak to another three people, none of which I know, before it's five o'clock. Then I ask the receptionist if there are anymore people in the waiting room. There are none, so I apparate back to my own home.

When I get home, the clock reads 5:04. I go outside to check for any mail. It's rare that any muggle letters, arrive here, but there's a mailbox anyway. It's green, and it reads 'The Weaselys' across both sides. As per usual, the mailbox is empty.

I head back inside, closing the cherry red door behind me. In the entryway is a photo of Ronald and myself on our wedding day. We're frozen in time, beaming at the camera. It's one of the other muggle things we own, just like the mailbox. Hermione took it.

I head up the stairs. At the second landing I open a door and walk into a room. It's a pale green color, with white carpeting. A crib sits in the far corner, and there's a rocking chair against the same wall, over by a window.

I sit down in the rocking chair and stare out the window. I lightly place my hand against my stomach. I've been pregnant for about four months. That's why I switched jobs. The fighting was too dangerous for the child growing inside me.

We wanted a large family. He'd had one, and he'd love it. I had been an only child, and I was oftentimes lonely. Unfortunately, I would only have one child. One boy. We planned on naming him Gregory. Gregory Arthur Weasley.

I must have fallen asleep in that chair, because the next thing I knew, Ginny was waking me up.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered in my ear, hugging me.

"I'll be fine, it's Gregory I'm worried about. He won't have a father. And what if I'm a horrible mother?" I confess my fears to Ginny. This time, I am the one crying into her shoulder.

"He'll be fine. I'll help you take care of him. Fred, Bill, Percy, Harry and Hermione will help too. And you'll be a wonderful mother, you have no need to worry about that," she comforted me.

We talked for hours and Ginny offered to spend the night at my house, in case I needed her. After assuring her that I would be alright a few dozen times, she finally left.

I laid in my bed, that was now too large and too empty, and I found myself wishing Ginny had stayed.

I hope that peace will be worth all of the losses that everyone has suffered. I hope that Ronald's sacrifice will create a better future for our son. Right now, though, all I can do is hope.